


you electrify my life

by ericdire (aarobron)



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1, M/M, Soft.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarobron/pseuds/ericdire
Summary: five times they get caught, and one time they take control.or,And –– there are other things at play, as well. Other things that make him feel like he’s burning up from the inside out, that make the tips of his fingers tingle and his head start spinning. One look, a simple touch, a bright smile: that’s all it takes these days.
Relationships: Virgil van Dijk/Jordan Henderson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46





	you electrify my life

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! feedback always appreciated xxx

**_ prelude _ **

Things are good. Things are really, really good, and if he’s being honest, Virgil can’t remember the last time he was ever this happy. He’s four months into his first full season with Liverpool and honestly, he never expected it to go this well. Something special is going to happen, he can feel it. This season is going to be _theirs_.

And –– there are other things at play, as well. Other things that make him feel like he’s burning up from the inside out, that make the tips of his fingers tingle and his head start spinning. One look, a simple touch, a bright smile: that’s all it takes these days.

He’d always been attracted to Jordan. Even before they met, before he signed for the club, when Jordan was texting him day and night answering all of his questions, he’d been drawn to him. The way he talked, the teasing little comments – all of it, it just made Virgil more and more intrigued by him.

When they’d finally met, nothing had changed. Jordan was warm and welcoming, taking Virgil under his wing, and kinder than anyone could have ever expected. He was strikingly gorgeous, too (which, honestly, threw Virgil off course for a minute or so, and still does when he thinks about it for too long), and the rest, as they say, was history. 

The first time they kissed, Virgil felt like everything was right in the world. Things finally slotted into place and the buzzing in his brain quietened to a pleasant hum, and he cupped his palm around Jordan’s cheek and realised that there wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be. Not when Jordan had smiled up at him like that. Not when his fingers curled into the material of his t-shirt and refused to let go.

It was perfect.

They haven’t been together long. It’s coming up to three months now, blissful and _happy_. It had been a slow starter; long, stretched out weeks flirting, dancing around the subject, and pulling away when things got too real (and in Virgil’s case, complaining about it to anyone who didn’t know Jordan and therefore couldn’t work it out). But they’d finally acknowledged that something was happening in Kiev, on that awful night when neither of them could sleep, and had taken it from there.

It’s nice because it’s just the two of them. Nobody knows, and they don’t have plans to tell anybody – and it’s not that they don’t trust their friends and teammates, because of course they do, but this little bubble is perfect right now. Nobody can interfere. Nobody can make jokes. Nobody looks at them weird if they stand a little too close in training, or if their hugs linger for a little too long. 

They know it can’t last forever. Someone will find out eventually, and then it’ll only be a matter of time before the whole squad knows, but for now, they just want to figure things out together. They want to take their time and make the most of it. They want to enjoy each other, just for a while.

As long as they’re careful.

  


  


** 1. **

“It’s just shit, isn’t it,” Jordan says, but it’s not a question. He hasn’t smiled for hours, mouth downturned at the corners and eyes blank, and Virgil doesn’t know what to do. How to make this better. Jordan carries on staring out of the window, gripping the sill so tightly his knuckles are turning white. “I hate this fucking town.” 

“It’s not that bad,” Virgil offers. It sounds weak to his own ears, and he really doesn’t believe it, but that’s what Jordan needs to hear right now. Or at least, Virgil thinks he does. He takes a step forward until they’re stood side by side, shoulders brushing. “It’s a one game ban, and then you’ll be back.” 

“It’s Everton, though. Teams need their captains for derbies, and I’m gonna be nowhere to be seen,” Jordan sighs. He rubs a hand across his face and stares out across the lights of Watford miserably. Virgil just desperately wants to make things better, so much it hurts. “I’m a fucking idiot, Virg. I’ve been so stupid.” 

“I’m sure Milly will step in and do a good job," Virgil says quietly, but it's not as much of a comfort as he wants it to be. He curls his arms around Jordan's shoulders and the older man leans into the touch, resting his head in the curve of his neck. "It's not like he's inexperienced."

“Or you," Jordan says, knocking his chest into Virgil's. There's finally a smile on his face, but it's small and not quite real - pained, almost, and Virgil drops a chaste kiss to his forehead before turning his gaze back out of the window.

“Yeah," he agrees distantly. He doesn't know how he feels about that thought. It's not his place, especially not during a derby - it should be Jordan there, because that second yellow card shouldn't have been a booking. The injustice makes him rage, but it'd be no good to let Jordan see that. "If Klopp picks me.” 

"Of course he will," Jordan says, laughing slightly. He pulls away from Virgil's body and turns to face him properly, taking both of his hands. "You're the first name on the team sheet these days, Virg. You must realise that."

Virgil smiles at Jordan, polite and pleasant, and squeezes his fingers gently. “I don’t take any of this for granted,” he says, flushing at the way Jordan rolls his eyes. A PR dream, that’s what he gets called – but it’s all true. This whole situation is something he never expected: signing for Liverpool, reaching a Champions League final, being in a title race.

And, of course, meeting Jordan.

"Defensively, you've changed our lives,” Jordan says, dropping Virgil’s hands. Instead, he takes a step closer and hooks his arms around his shoulders, looking up at him with a steely kind of determination. He’s still furious at himself, but at least this seems to be a distraction. Virgil’s arms slip around his waist and pull him in even tighter. “You’ve changed mine."

He can’t help but feel a little stunned. Jordan is looking up at him from beneath his eyelashes, a small smile on his face, but it’s so warm and _real_ that his heart starts beating twice as fast against his ribcage. This is it. This is the right time.

“I love you,” he says, watching Jordan’s smile spread into a blinding grin. It’s not a surprise to either of them – or, at least, it shouldn’t be. Virgil has felt it since before he even gave up the ghost and admitted he had feelings for Jordan, and he’s been pretty open about it since they finally kissed for the first time, even if he didn’t actually say the words. 

But now he has, and Jordan looks fucking delighted, and Virgil loves him so, so much. He wants to tell him that every minute of every day. “I love you, too,” Jordan says, sounding a little breathless. Virgil wants to kiss him –– so he does.

He curls his palm around Jordan's cheek and closes the gap between them. The kiss is slow and sweet; Jordan's fingers tangle in the neck of Virgil's t-shirt and he parts his mouth easily. It’s nice, not really going nowhere but still lasting for long, long minutes. Jordan tastes like peppermint and the faint tang of coffee, and underneath it all, something so familiar that Virgil’s sure is _his_ by now, too.

Jordan pulls away with a contented hum, but he doesn’t go far. It’s a few millimetres at most and he still hasn’t opened his eyes, a tiny smile spread across his face. Virgil can’t help but lean in again and press a kiss to his forehead, chest tight with everything he’s feeling.

“It’s getting late – we should get some sleep,” Jordan says quietly. He takes a step forward and tucks his entire body against Virgil’s, nose brushing cold against his neck as he rests his head on his shoulder. It’s a clingy kind of hug, from the side of himself that Jordan doesn’t normally let out, but Virgil figures he’s allowed right now. “I should go. Back to my own room. Alone.” 

“You know you don’t have to,” Virgil says, hugging Jordan close to his body and swaying them back and forth. Jordan might have seemed a little happier a few moments ago but now the line of his shoulders is tense again, grip tight in the material of Virgil’s shirt. “You can stay here. You’ve always got a place with me.”

“What if someone sees me leaving in the morning? Or goes to my room and notices I’m not there?” Jordan asks, although he sounds really, really tempted. He tilts his chin up to look at Virgil, eyes wide and bright, and he’s pouting slightly. Virgil can’t help but smile and tangle his fingers in Jordan’s hair, kissing his temple gently.

“We’ll figure something out,” Virgil says, shrugging dismissively. He wants Jordan to know that he always has somewhere to go, someone who’s there for him – unconditionally. It may not have been that long (so far) but what he feels is fierce, protectiveness burning inside his chest like flames. “You should stay here, Jord. I want you to stay. I want to be with you tonight.” 

“Fine,” Jordan murmurs. The smile is finally back on his face, and honestly, that’s all Virgil’s ever wanted to see. He’d dedicate his entire life to making sure Jordan is happy if he could, and the least he can do is try. “You’ve convinced me.” 

They undress quietly, with Virgil stealing little glances at Jordan every so often, just to make sure he’s okay. He seems it, but then okay isn’t enough, not really. He wants him to be happy, laughing and joking and completely carefree. Instead, there’s a sadness tinging every movement he makes.

He borrows one of Virgil’s t-shirts. It’s big on him, swinging off his shoulders, and he looks– _unbelievable_ , to be honest. It makes Virgil feel possessive, burning in the tips of his fingers, and he reaches out to thumb at the hem of the shirt, knuckles brushing against the bare skin of Jordan’s thigh. The older man shivers, stepping into Virgil’s space and kissing him fiercely. 

“Come on,” Virgil murmurs against Jordan’s lips. He takes his hand and pulls him until they’re both in bed, letting the older man manoeuvre them both into a comfortable position. Jordan’s head is resting on his chest, arm slung over his waist and thigh tucked snugly between his own, and it makes him seem more at ease. Like the buzzing under his skin has finally stopped. 

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, breaking the long, comfortable silence that was stretching out between them. He goes quiet again, but he’s tracing patterns on Virgil’s bare chest with the tips of his fingers, the blunt edges of his nails catching against the soft skin and making the younger man shiver. “It’s just – so stupid. I should be there next week, but now I’m going to be watching from the fucking _stands_. I really am sorry. I’ve let you all down.” 

“Hey, none of that,” Virgil says gently, dragging his palm from Jordan’s shoulder up to the back of his head. He tangles his fingers in his hair, revelling in the sharp little breath that escapes from the other man’s lungs. “The FA isn’t banishing you to another country, Jord. You’ll still be in the dressing room, before kick off and at half time. Being as bossy as always, probably. You’ll still be an important part of the team. I promise you that.” 

Jordan sighs, turning his head to press a soft kiss against Virgil’s chest. A thank you, he supposes, but there’s really no need for it. Virgil would go to the ends of the earth for him – even though Jordan doesn’t seem to realise that. “I know, it’s just–”

The door connecting this hotel room to the one next to it opens suddenly, and Gini appears (in slow motion it seems, but that’s probably just from the freezing cold fear that’s spreading through Virgil’s body). He’s distracted, frown lit up by the blue light of his phone as he stares down at it, and he hasn’t noticed Jordan –– yet. Virgil doesn’t know whether that’s a blessing or a curse.

“Virgil, heb je van Memphis gehoord over dit feest –” He finally looks up from his phone and his jaw drops, although he tries to cover it up with a tight smile. He glances away, anywhere but the bed: the blank TV, the window, Virgil’s trainers discarded messily in the corner. “– oh. Sorry, I didn’t realise you were busy. Hi, Hendo… I’ll catch you later, Virg.” 

And then he’s gone, back through the door he came through, which closes with a deafening bang. 

Jordan groans, burying his face into Virgil’s chest like he can’t bear to face reality. “Fuck,” he sighs, rolling off Virgil completely to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling. Every point they were touching suddenly feels awful cold, and Virgil fights back a shudder. “Does this mean we have to start telling people? I know it’s selfish but – I liked it being just us. I like getting you all to myself without people assuming. I don’t want people to know yet, Virg.” 

“I know, babe,” Virgil murmurs. He closes his eyes briefly and then climbs out of bed, grabbing his hoodie from the chair and pulling it over his head. He leans back across the bed, one knee on the mattress for balance as he kisses Jordan softly – what he hopes is comfortingly. “Don’t worry about it, alright? I’ll fix it. Gini won’t tell anyone if I ask him to; I’ll go talk to him.” 

“Thank you,” Jordan says quietly. He pulls the sheets up to his chin, eyes wide and worried as he stares at Virgil. He looks tiny, vulnerable and sweet, and Virgil can’t help but lean down and kiss him again. “Love you.”

Virgil smiles, brushing his thumb across Jordan’s cheekbone briefly before straightening and glancing at the door once. It’s now or never, he supposes, so he clears his throat and knocks, opening it when he hears Gini’s weak _come in_.

“Sorry if I interrupted anything,” Gini says before Virgil has the chance to say anything. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed and pats the space next to him, and Virgil sits, wringing his hands in his lap like a schoolboy that’s about to be told off. “So… You and Hendo, then? How long has that been going on?” 

"Few months," Virgil says, shrugging like he doesn't mentally count the days. He can't quite bring himself to look at Gini, because he's not sure what he's going to find on his best friend's face. It could easily be disappointment, disapproval - any of the things that Virgil doesn't want to see - and he doesn't think he could handle that. "Almost four, actually."

"Didn't expect it, to be honest. I mean, I know you always had a thing for him, but I never expected the two of you to actually _work_ in the real world," Gini says. He forces Virgil to meet his gaze, and when he does, he's smiling - but Virgil still doesn't know if it's real. He doesn't know if what Gini is saying is a good thing or bad, because he's giving nothing away. "Are you happy?"

Virgil looks away (but only because there's a stupid, ditzy smile on his face), and wipes the back of his hand across his nose. "I don't think I've ever been happier," he admits quietly, and isn't surprised to find that he isn't ashamed about it. He's way past that now. "I just - we love the fact that it's just us right now. We've been friends for a long time, but we're still learning how to be _together_. I'd like it to stay that way for a little while longer."

"Then that's all that matters, then. I won't tell anyone, you don't need to worry about that," Gini says. He's smiling properly now, the kind that lights up an entire room, and he claps his hand on Virgil's knee. "Now, I think you're needed elsewhere. Your boyfriend has had a pretty shitty day, so go cheer him up."

He doesn't need telling twice. He slips back through to his own room, making sure to lock the connecting door behind him this time, and then pauses, resting his back against the wall. He feels shattered, like that one conversation has just taken it all out of him, but also light. Relieved, really, and he can't stop the grin from spreading across his face. 

"How did it go?" Jordan asks. He pushes the duvet away and rises to his knees, looking at Virgil with careful curiosity in his eyes. "Are you - are you _blushing_?"

"He was fine about it. And he's not gonna say anything," Virgil says, shaking his head. His eyes meet Jordan's and a laugh bubbles up his throat, just pure happiness taking over his body, and he curls his fingers into fists, nails carving shapes into the soft skin of his palms. "Gini just... called you my boyfriend?"

"Am I?" Jordan asks, gazing up at Virgil from beneath his lashes. The younger man lets out an impatient noise from the back of his throat and he stalks over to the bed, kneeling on it. His grin turns dangerous and he gently pushes Jordan until he's laying back against the pillows, looking starstruck at the man above him as he shoves a thigh between his legs.

"I've never wanted anything more," Virgil says, and kisses Jordan until he's breathless. 

** 2. **

The dressing room is empty. Everyone had showered and changed quickly, keen to get back to the hotel for a celebratory drink, but Jordan had decided to take his time and obviously, Virgil couldn’t leave him by himself. _That would have been rude_ is what he keeps telling himself, but really, he just wants to get his hands on his boyfriend.

“You look so fucking sexy when you’re shouting at me like that,” he murmurs, crowding Jordan back against the wall. His grip on the older man’s hips is so tight that it must hurt, but Jordan just shudders out a breath, looking up at Virgil with half lidded eyes. “Wanted to grab you right there on the pitch.” 

“You should have,” Jordan counters, tilting his chin up defiantly. It’s a challenge, one that Virgil will gladly take, so he kisses him fiercely, licking into his mouth with no reprieve. Jordan lets out a little whine, breathy and gorgeous, and Virgil swallows it. It tastes incredible. “I wouldn’t complain.”

“You might not, but I’m sure other people would,” Virgil teases, dragging his teeth down the tendon in Jordan’s neck. His skin is warm, still slightly pink from his hot shower, and it tastes clean when Virgil bites gently. He worries the spot between his teeth until he knows it’s going to leave a mark. “Here will do.” 

Jordan sighs, content and blissful as his hands slide up the length of Virgil’s back to rest on his neck. He’s already hard, pressing against Virgil’s thigh as he circles his hips in tiny movements. That argument affected him just as much as it did Virgil, and the younger man is glad about it. He’d hate to be alone in this. 

He licks a wet path back up Jordan’s throat, tongue brushing over the bristles of his beard at his jaw, and then kisses him again, driving his hips forward at the same time. It’s too much and not enough at the same time, and Jordan’s fingers scrabble against his back for purchase, short nails still scratching even through his jacket. It only pushes him further, slamming Jordan back against the wall and fisting a hand in his hair.

“We need to go,” Jordan manages to gasp out, although his head falls back when Virgil kisses the hinge of his jaw wetly. Despite what he just said, he brings his hands up to curl around Virgil’s cheeks, and pulls his head back up to kiss him desperately. 

“But they’re all going to make us spend time with them,” Virgil whines with a pout on his face. He hooks his fingers under the back of Jordan’s thigh and lifts it, until his knee is riding high against Virgil’s hip. The angle is better when the younger man drives his hips forward again, and Jordan lets out a high pitched moan, fingernails digging into the back of Virgil’s neck. “I just want _you_.”

“I want you too,” Jordan murmurs against Virgil’s lips. He steals another kiss, but it’s slower this time, less heated. It still drives Virgil crazy though, and he slides his hand up Jordan’s t-shirt, fingers spidering across his ribs as he thumbs teasingly at his nipple. 

He feels like he’s underwater. He’s drowning in sensation, in the taste of Jordan’s mouth and the feel of his tongue against his own, the pressure of his fingertips against his skin and the outline of his dick pressing against his thigh. He swallows every little moan that Jordan lets out and doesn’t let up, taking and taking and taking whatever he wants.

“What. The. _Fuck_.” A voice says from behind them. It sounds distant but Virgil knows that it’s coming from the doorway, and he springs away from Jordan even though it’s pointless. They’ve been caught, and even if they hadn’t been seen, Jordan’s hair is a mess and his mouth is kiss swollen and red – not to mention the fact his travel joggers aren’t hiding much.

“Trent–” Jordan starts, and then cuts himself off. He looks lost, like he doesn’t know what to stay, and he’s staring at Trent and Joe over Virgil’s shoulder. It’s half apologetic, half terrified, and Virgil takes his hand and squeezes it before he moves away, standing next to Jordan, side by side. “...Joey.”

“Are yous still fighting from earlier?” Trent asks, heading across the room to his spot on the bench. He’s completely oblivious, despite the way Joe is still stood in the doorway to the dressing room, staring at them with wide, traumatised eyes. “I thought you always left your disagreements on the pitch. It wasn’t that bad, was it?” 

Virgil risks shooting a glance at Jordan who looks confused, but before he can try and save it, Joe snaps out of his shock. “Trent ––” he says. He’s grinning now, trying to hide it behind his hand and failing. “– that’s not what they were doing. They weren’t fighting, Trent. The opposite, actually.”

“What else could they have been doing?” Trent asks, not bothering to look up from where he’s rummaging through his locker. It takes a moment for Joe’s words to sink in, and then he stops in his tracks, spine straightening slowly. He doesn’t turn around. “Oh. That’s –– _oh_.” 

“Well, the bus is waiting for you two,” Joe says. He’s trying to sound cheerful but it’s completely fake, and there’s still laughter in his voice. He approaches Trent and slings an arm around his shoulders, grinning at him. He clearly finds this whole situation hilarious, but then again, his injury is keeping him out of the squad for the foreseeable. He doesn’t have to deal with the awkwardness. “Should we… get off?” 

Trent shrugs him off with a look of disgust, and then turns to face Jordan and Virgil. He’s frowning, the disgust still on his face. “No. Did yous –” he starts, then grimaces, closing his eyes for a second. “– in the dressing room? Really? We spend half our lives here. Couldn’t you keep it in your pants until you get home?” 

Virgil bites his lip, trying to hold back a laugh. He knows he should be more annoyed about this, and probably a little bit scared, but there’s something about the whole situation that’s just surreal. Plus, Gini finding out wasn’t so bad, and he’s more than happy for them, so maybe Trent and Joe will be the same. Next to him, Jordan has flushed bright red from the tips of his ears right down to his neck.

“I looked up to you! Both of you!” Trent continues. He looks like he’s half a second away from stamping his foot like a child having a tantrum – and he’s definitely pouting, which is what makes this so fucking ridiculous. A quiet laugh escapes Virgil’s mouth before he can stop it, and Jordan elbows him in the ribs to make him shut up. “And now whenever I look _anywhere_ in this room, I’m just going to picture you doing –– _that_! I won’t be able to escape!” 

“Oh, Trent. Let’s leave the love birds to it,” Joe says. He curls his arm around Trent’s shoulders again and leads him out of the dressing room, shooting one last amused glance at Jordan and Virgil. His voice still carries as they get further away. “Do you see what just happened, T? Those are your dads – and they just had sex. Well, almost. Your dads almost had sex, in the place where you shower and change and socialise.” 

Trent’s anguished cry is the last thing they hear, and then silence falls over the room again.

“Well,” Virgil says, pushing away from the wall and standing in front of Jordan again. The older man is staring at his shoes, cheeks bright red and fingers curled into fists. “That was eventful, wasn’t it? Pretty sure we traumatised the kids.” 

“It’s not funny,” Jordan says, but he is smiling a little bit. He hooks his arms loosely around Virgil’s waist and finally looks up at him, shaking his head in disbelief. “I told his mum I’d look after him, and I think that extended way past Russia. This isn’t looking after him, is it? He’s going to have nightmares about it.” 

“He had to learn about the birds and the bees sometime,” Virgil says dismissively. He leans forward, wanting to give Jordan a reassuring kiss, but his phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls away with a dramatic sigh. “Come on, we’d better get to the bus before anyone else comes looking.” 

When they’re finally making their way back through Anfield towards the coach, Virgil remembers about his phone. He pulls it out and checks the text from Joe, smiling dumbly at the black letters on the screen.

**btw, trent is still very, very upset. don’t expect him to talk to you any time soon**

**your secret is safe with us tho. glad ur happy x**

** 3. **

Virgil hasn’t been bothered about Christmas in a long time. December has always been the busiest month in football, and he’s never had time to see his family, let alone celebrate with them. It’s just like any other day – he trains in the morning, eats alone, then falls asleep in front of whatever soppy film is on primetime TV. 

This one is different, though. It’s the first Christmas he’s spent with Jordan, and when he turned down Gini’s invitation of spending the day with him and his family, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to intrude. It was because he already had plans.

He trained like normal in the morning, a lazy session that none of them really took seriously. It was fun, full of laughs and shitty little gimmick gifts being exchanged, and nobody blinked twice when Virgil pulled Jordan in for a warm hug. Holiday season, and all that. It changed people, made them softer. 

And then he’d gotten in his car, a genuine, excited smile spread across his face, and followed Jordan all the way back to his house.

It was nice. There were no expectations, just Jordan’s easy smile and the way he’d said _dinner’s going to be ages yet_ with a pointed look, and dragged Virgil up the stairs. His touch was gentle, mouth warm, and every little sound he made was pure perfection. Really, not a bad way to spend Christmas day – definitely better than last year. 

“Think it’s time for me to give you my real present,” Jordan hums. He swings his legs either side of Virgil’s waist so he’s straddling him, one hand planted firmly in the centre of the younger man’s chest for balance. His grin is dangerous, eyes bright and hair mussed, and he hasn’t even bothered putting his clothes back on, and Virgil _loves_ him. Virgil loves him more than anything else in the entire world. 

“Another one?” Virgil asks, resting the tips of his fingers on Jordan’s knees before dragging them up his thighs. The skin is still flushed and warm, muscles trembling slightly from the force of his orgasm, and Virgil can’t help but smile at the man above him. “Aren’t I a lucky boy.”

“Well, what can I say,” Jordan says. He’s smirking, a cocky kind of confidence draping over his body and making the line of his shoulders strong. It suits him, honestly, and Virgil’s dick twitches at the sight. He loves it, loves watching Jordan take control, loves him being so unapologetic about what he wants. “I’m feeling generous today. Must be all the Christmas spirit.”

Jordan’s hand slides from Virgil’s chest to his shoulder, and his other hand presses into the pillow right next to the younger man’s head as he leans down to kiss him. It’s slow but still charged; a flame burning steadily rather than an explosion, but it still makes Virgil’s toes curl against the sheets. He’ll never get bored of kissing Jordan, or tracing the contours of his body, or feeling the heat of his skin when he’s this close. 

He presses his thumbs into the sharp points of Jordan’s hip bones just to hear the gasp he draws in, and then smooths his hands down the planes of his back. The tips of his fingers dip into the crease of Jordan’s arse and circle around his hole, still wet from earlier, and he lets out a high pitched whine when Virgil slides two fingers inside.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Virgil whispers, curling his free hand around Jordan’s jaw and dragging his face down to kiss him. He hooks the tips of his fingers until they’re rubbing against Jordan’s prostate and smiles into the kiss when the younger man loses the coordination to kiss back. Instead, he’s just breathing into Virgil’s mouth, fingernails digging into the meat of his shoulder painfully. 

“Merry Christmas,” Jordan manages to gasp out, but it’s broken on a sob and replaced by a guttural groan. He grinds his hips back on Virgil’s fingers, forehead dropped against his collarbone, but Virgil wants to see his face. He grips the back of Jordan’s neck and drags his head up, breath hitching when he sees his red, swollen mouth and dark eyes.

“I love you,” Virgil says quietly, stretching up to press a kiss to the corner of Jordan’s mouth. The older man tries to reply, opening his mouth, but all that comes out is a fractured moan and he bumps his nose against Virgil’s cheekbone. There’s a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, and Virgil kisses it away. Jordan stays silent, bar the desperate cries he lets out every time Virgil’s fingers slide against his prostate.

“Hendo, seriously, I know you’re alone on Christmas, but that doesn’t mean you get to spend the entire day in bed sulking!” Adam’s voice echoes through the house, gradually getting closer until the door opens. Virgil can’t see him past the shape of Jordan’s body, but he can hear him stifling an evilly delighted laugh. “Oh! I didn’t realise you had _company_ –– wait – is that Virgil?”

“Shit, fuck,” Jordan hisses. He scrambles off of Virgil, almost falling off the bed in the process, but Virgil manages to get a hold of his wrist and pull him back to the centre of the mattress. Jordan pulls the sheets up to his chest, clearly self conscious, and glares at Adam. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you _knock_?” 

“I was trying to be nice! I didn’t want you to spend the day alone!” Adam says. He’s pouting, but also kind of looks furious – and maybe this is it, Virgil thinks, maybe this is when they finally find someone who doesn’t agree with it. Maybe this is what disapproval looks like. “Why are you having sex with _Virgil_? Are you insane?” 

“I am right here,” Virgil mutters, pushing himself up to sit against the headboard. Adam’s eyes barely flicker to him, still staring daggers at Jordan – who finds Virgil’s hand under the covers and tangles their fingers together. “What’s your problem?” 

“It’s not about you sleeping with a man, if that’s what you think,” Adam says. He’s answering Virgil’s question but directing it at Jordan, completely ignoring the younger man and blanking him out of the conversation. “I mean – don’t you just think it’s a little irresponsible? You’re letting your dick rule your brain, Hendo. We’ve got a great thing going this season, and you’re risking it by fucking Virgil? It won’t end well, and then it’ll ruin the squad dynamic, and _what_? For _sex_ –” 

“Shut up for a minute, Adam. Just shut up,” Jordan says. He sounds tired all of a sudden, completely exhausted, and all Virgil wants to do is tell Adam to fuck off and make sure his boyfriend sleeps. He deserves that instead of all this bullshit. “It’s not _just sex_ , alright? We’re together, and we have been for months. I love him. I’m not risking anything, Adam. I love him.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Adam says, closing his eyes briefly. His gaze flits between them, and he raps his knuckles against the frame of the door twice before sighing. “Fine, but we still need to talk about this. Get yourself dressed, I’ll wait downstairs.” 

Jordan climbs out of bed as soon as the door shuts and pulls on the clothes Virgil had thrown anywhere without caring, not saying a word. His silence is unnerving – but understandable, because he must be terrified. Virgil leaves him to it, flopping onto his front and burying his face into the pillow. He doesn’t want to open his massive mouth and make things worse.

“Er, don’t think you’re getting out of this,” Jordan says. He rips the duvet away and Virgil whines, shivering when the cold winter air hits his skin, but he still doesn’t move. At least, he doesn’t move until Jordan slaps his bare arse, so hard it stings. “You’re coming downstairs with me to talk to him. I’m not having this conversation alone.” 

“It’s nothing to do with me,” Virgil murmurs sleepily, turning onto his back and looking up at Jordan through heavy eyes. The older man rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, putting on his best captain’s demeanour, but it’s definitely not going to work on _Christmas day_ of all days. Besides, Jordan isn’t his captain when Virgil has just reduced him to a whimpering mess. “He’s your best mate.”

“Your fingers were inside me when he walked in, so you have to deal with this too,” Jordan huffs. He climbs onto the bed and pulls the duvet down from where it’s tucked around Virgil’s chin to his waist, and leans down like he’s going to do something sweet. Kiss him, maybe, but instead, he grins deviously, and then his fingers are digging into the sensitive skin of Virgil’s ribs.

“No, stop it!” Virgil gasps out. He can’t help the laughter that’s bubbling up his throat and he tries to move away but Jordan has him pinned against the bed. He really, really regrets telling him that he’s ticklish now. “Alright! Fine! I’ll come down, just stop!” 

Jordan smirks and gets back to his feet, throwing Virgil’s clothes at him. He dresses with a pout on his face, and Jordan is watching him the entire time, but it’s not with the teasing comments he usually gives. Instead, he’s silent, eyes guarded and mouth a thin line. Something really isn’t right.

“You don’t have to worry, you know,” Virgil says quietly, curling his hand around Jordan’s waist and pulling him flush against his body. The older man looks up at him, concern shining in his eyes and bottom lip trapped between his teeth, but he finally gives up pretending he’s fine and tucks himself against Virgil’s chest. “He’ll understand, once you’ve told him. He won’t be pleased that Trent knew before him, but he loves you. He wants you to be happy. And when he sees that you are, it’ll be fine. I promise you.” 

“...Okay,” Jordan says after a long silence. He smiles and reaches up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of Virgil’s mouth, then gives him a proper one, soft and slow. He’s probably trying to waste time, but Virgil can’t bring himself to care. “Thank you.”

“I’d do anything,” Virgil says. He levels his gaze with Jordan’s, eyes serious so he knows that he means every word he’s saying, and strokes his thumb across the sharp line of his cheekbone gently. “Anything for you, Jord. I hope you know that.” 

** 4. **

Honestly, Virgil thought Marbella would be a little different. He knew they were there to work and they wouldn't have much free time, but he still expected to be able to get Jordan by himself at least once. So far, the most they've had is five minutes during dinner, sitting opposite each other - until Joel and Dejan decided that the free chairs either side of them were the perfect place to sit and eat. 

Neither of them had managed to sneak into the other's room, either. They were too tired - this time of year was always so busy, fixtures every few days, and the training sessions that Klopp had set up for them were _exhausting_. Virgil was heading straight up to his room after dinner, and falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He misses Jordan. Just the simple things, really: the soft curve of a smile that he saves only for Virgil, or his little finger linking with Virgil's whenever they're standing next to each other for more than five minutes. The way he tilts his head up when he wants a kiss, or the tiny noises he lets out when he wakes up.

Virgil misses it all.

He knows it's only been three days, but he also knows that this is the longest they've spent apart since they've been together. It's just not _right_. It's messing with his head, and he knows he's off his game. He doesn't need to see the looks the gaffer is giving him to be aware of it, because he can feel it in the way his feet drag every time he kicks the ball.

It's a recovery day today. They're going home tonight, ready for two days training at Melwood and then a league game, so recovery is necessary. Gym or pool, no set sessions, just easy workouts. Virgil has been sticking to Jordan's side like glue, desperate for a conversation, some casual contact. It started with using the exercise bike right next to him, just the two of them plus Adam and Trent, who had eventually got sick of the soppy little looks they were sharing.

"Your face is awful. Stop looking so pathetic," Adam said. It was directed at Jordan, and Virgil couldn't help but smirk - at least, until Adam turned his dry look towards him. "Your face is awful too, don't think you're getting away with it. What's the problem?"

"Nothing," Jordan said, but he was pouting and it was completely unconvincing. He risked a glance at Virgil, hoping that Adam wouldn't see, but he did and raised an eyebrow. They all knew that he wouldn't drop it, so Jordan sighed, resting his forehead against the handlebars of his bicycle. "We just- haven't really seen each other since we've been here, alright? We haven't spent time together. Not just the two of us. And it just… feels weird. We're always together back at home."

"Jesus Christ, is that it?" Adam asked, then flinched away when Jordan reached out and punched him on the shoulder. He winced, rubbing the spot, then glanced between the two of them and at Trent. "Fine. If you want, me and Trent can cover for you this afternoon. Nothing too adventurous, just tell them you're going to have a pool session. We can keep everyone occupied."

And then Adam had pretended to be put off when Jordan hugged him and said thank you, but Virgil could see the little smile on his face. That said more than words ever could.

  


  


The pool is cold. They've managed to work it so that they're the only ones here, and their voices echo off the high ceilings, smiles reflecting off the water. Thankfully, there aren't any windows, because the gym is right next door, and Virgil manages to keep his hands to himself for all of five minutes until the facade cracks.

"Missed you," he murmurs, pulling Jordan in by the hips. He kisses him, soft and chaste, and feels Jordan's arms loop around his shoulders in response. The skin on skin contact feels better than he thought it would after only three days without, and he shivers, nudging his nose against Jordan's. "I know it's stupid cause I've seen you all day every day, but - I still missed you. Loads."

Jordan smiles, hooking his arms around Virgil’s shoulders. “I missed you too,” he whispers, and then he’s kissing Virgil properly. He presses up close against the younger man, a hint, and Virgil takes it. He curls his fingers around the back of Jordan’s thighs and lifts him, until his legs are tight around his waist. The kiss breaks, and Jordan is laughing breathlessly, but Virgil swallows it with another kiss. He’s missed this too much.

It’s nice. The only sound that Virgil can hear is Jordan’s soft gasps echoing off the surface of the water, and he slides one hand up to the small of his back, the other resting on his arse. Jordan’s fingers come up to frame his jaw, and he kisses down, licking into Virgil’s mouth like a man on a mission.

Virgil wishes he could have more right now.

God, he _wishes_.

Still, this has to be enough, so he drags himself away from the kiss and grazes his teeth along the sharp line of Jordan’s jaw. It makes the older man whine, just slightly, high pitched and desperate, and his hand slides around to the back of Virgil’s neck, nails digging in so harshly it hurts. “Can’t wait to get you home,” he murmurs hoarsely, mouth right next to Virgil’s ear. 

Virgil is about to reply, to tell Jordan exactly what he’s going to do to him when they get back to Liverpool, but he’s interrupted by the door banging open loudly.

They don’t have time to separate far enough that it’s not suspicious. 

“Oh right,” Ox says. He’s beaming, evident in his voice, and when Virgil finally turns to look at him, he realises how shiteating the grin actually is – and cringes, because they’re really in for it here. “This looks cosy!” 

“Fucking hell,” Jordan mutters, lowering himself from Virgil’s grip. He rests his elbow on the younger man’s shoulder, head in his hand, and sighs, before pinching the bridge of his nose and looking up at Virgil with a pained expression on his face. When he speaks again, his voice is low and hissed. “What are we supposed to do now? The whole squad will find out in seconds if he has his way.” 

Virgil snakes his hand round to the back of Jordan’s neck, squeezing tight and dropping a quick kiss to his temple – before he realises where he is, and who is watching them, and then really, really regrets it. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, keeping his eyes on Ox even though the weight of Jordan’s gaze is burning the side of his face. “I’ll sort it, okay? You don’t need to worry.” 

“I mean, honestly, I do see the appeal – you make a hot couple,” Ox says. He walks around the edge of the pool, to the far corner where Virgil and Jordan are. He slides until he’s sitting, back against the wall and arms resting on his knees like he’s making himself at home. “I just didn’t see it coming, that’s all. Bit of a surprise.” 

“It’s just – it’s still kind of new, truth be told,” Virgil says quietly, even though it’s a bare faced lie. He knows it’ll be easier this way, easier to keep it contained until they _choose_ to let it out into the open (and honestly, so many people have caught them now that maybe they should consider it). “We’re keeping things on the down low for now. Seeing how things go, you know? So if you could––” 

“I didn’t know you had it in you, skip,” Ox says, cutting off Virgil’s words. He’s grinning again, barely containing his laughter, and he’s looking directly at Jordan as he speaks. Like Virgil doesn’t exist, until his gaze flickers back at the younger man. “I mean, you probably _would have_ had it in you if I hadn’t walked in just then, but...” 

“Shut up – just. Shut up,” Jordan groans, flicking water at Ox, who flinches away with a laugh. He’s completely embarrassed, flushing from the chest up and pouting, and Virgil really shouldn’t find it as endearing as he does. “Why’d you always have to lower the tone?” 

“I just have one more question,” Ox says. He shifts until he’s sat cross legged and then rests his elbows on his knees, staring at them intently. That look alone proves that they’re not going to like what he asks. “Why Virg, Hendo? He’s hot, but I’m better. I’ve got that cute boy look going on – you’re really missing out on these freckles? For _him_?” 

“Oi!” Virgil says, curling his arm around Jordan’s shoulders and pulling him flush against his side. He knows he’s pouting but he doesn’t even care, because the thought of losing Jordan makes a shiver travel down his spine. He’s man enough to admit that it terrifies him, because he’s never felt like this about anyone before. He doesn’t want to feel it with anyone else, either. “You’ve already got a gorgeous girlfriend. Back off.” 

“I’d drop it all for you, Hendo,” Ox says, batting his eyelashes innocently, but neither Virgil nor Jordan are paying attention anymore. Instead, Jordan’s fingers have snaked up to frame Virgil’s jaw, and he turns the younger man’s head towards him, kissing him softly on the mouth. Virgil barely remembers that they have company – until Ox huffs out a sigh. “Alright, alright, I get it – you’re disgustingly in love. When this eventually _does_ come out, I can’t promise that I won’t take the piss, but for now, I’ll keep it to myself. Scout’s honour.” 

“Thanks, Alex,” Virgil says sincerely. He finally lets go of Jordan (even though it’s painful, to be honest), and wades to the edge of the pool, resting his elbows on the side and looking up at Ox with an innocent smile on his face. “Because if anyone else finds out and it comes from you, then that little knee injury will feel like a scratch.”

Judging by the look on Ox’s face, their secret is safe for now. 

** 5. **

Virgil has his hands on Jordan’s waist, hustling him through the door of the hotel room, but there isn’t much resistance. The older man is exhausted, limbs dragging and most of his weight resting against Virgil’s chest, and all he’s been talking about since they got back on the bus is how excited he is for his bed.

“How are you feeling?” Virgil asks, manhandling Jordan until he’s sprawled out across the sofa. There’s an ice pack in the bag that the doctor made sure they left Anfield with, along with a whole host of painkillers and a list of exercises, and Virgil heads towards it, biting his lip. He can’t help but worry. “Is your knee sore? Do you need anything for it?” 

“Just want you. Don’t need anything else,” Jordan says, reaching towards Virgil. He’s pouting, hands outstretched and eyelids heavy, but Virgil doesn’t take the bait. Jordan sighs, faltering under the raised eyebrow sent his way, and starts shimmying his joggers down his legs. “Fine. Ice pack, please.” 

“Stop moaning,” Virgil says, rolling his eyes. He folds Jordan’s joggers up neatly and puts them to one side, then kneels in front of him, leaning forward and catching Jordan’s mouth with his own softly. When he pulls away, he’s smiling, resting the ice pack on Jordan’s knee. “We’re through to the final. We beat Barcelona. We did the _impossible_ , Jord – a sore knee is a small price to pay for that!” 

“You heard what Dr Massey said – and you’re the one who won’t stop fussing over me,” Jordan says. Despite what he says, he tangles his fingers with Virgil’s, pulling him up to the sofa with his free hand, and presses a kiss to the hinge of his jaw. “God, Virg. We did it. We really did it, didn’t we? Two finals in a row. I’m so proud of those lads.” 

“And we’re gonna win it this time,” Virgil says, really believing it. He can’t stop the grin that spreads over his face, and he pushes Jordan back against the cushions with a kiss and a hand on his face. “And you – you’re amazing, you know. Carrying on even though you were in pain. My heart was in my mouth when you went down, but you’re so strong, and we couldn’t have done it without you. I love you, captain incredible.”

"Shut up," Jordan says, flushing a gorgeous pink colour. Virgil can't stay away, presses kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his lips - anywhere he can reach, and when he pulls away, he notices that there are tears shining in Jordan's eyes. He swipes a thumb across his cheekbone and looks at him inquisitively. "Sorry, I just - this time next month, we'll be in our second Champions League final. After last year, when all I wanted to sit with you and be miserable together, I didn't think we'd get another chance. I didn't think we'd get to make that feeling go away - not so soon, anyway."

A stray tear slips down his cheek and Virgil wipes it away with his thumb, before carding his fingers through Jordan's hair. He feels the same, to be honest, but he doesn't quite know how to say it. Not when there's a lump making his throat feel tight, and he doesn't often cry, but seeing the love of his life so unabashedly _happy_ is more than a little overwhelming. He presses a kiss to Jordan's forehead and nudges their noses together, but before he can close the gap between them, there's a knock on the door.

It opens before Virgil has the chance to pull away properly, because clearly nobody on this fucking team can _knock_. He still manages to roll to the side, close enough that one arm is still hooked around Jordan’s shoulders, the younger man tucked comfortably against his side.

“Alright, lads?” Klopp says. He walks into the room and lowers himself onto one of the chairs in front of them, and if he thinks their proximity is weird, then he doesn’t say anything. Virgil doesn’t think he’s even noticed. “Didn’t know you’d be here, Virg. Just wanted to see how Hendo is doing. How’s your knee?”

“It’s okay,” Jordan says, hand going to his leg subconsciously. Virgil can’t see him shrug but he feels Jordan’s shoulder slide against his ribs, the simple movement making sparks brush against his skin. "Doctor Massey gave me a load of painkillers and strict instructions to ice and exercise every so often."

"Liar," Virgil says, ignoring the way Jordan glares up at him. He spreads his palm over Jordan's knee, covering the older man's own hand as his thumb rubs gently at the inflamed skin. He doesn't care if Jordan hates him - he's telling the truth, and he can still remember the way his heart leapt into his mouth when he saw his boyfriend screaming into the turf. He's not going to let him make his injury worse just because he doesn't want to miss one game. "He winces every time he moves it - when he's not struggling to move it."

"At least someone is honest with me," Jurgen says pointedly (over Jordan hissing _shut up_ and punching Virgil's chest), but he doesn't look too upset about it. Virgil doesn't think any of them could be upset about anything right now, and he tightens his arm around Jordan's shoulders just to remind him of that. "Look, Hendo, just take it slow. You should be fine for the weekend, as long as you don't do anything too much. I'll leave you to it - you look exhausted. Get some rest."

Jurgen smiles when Jordan thanks him, and turns to leave. He stops, though, with one hand on the door handle and looks back over his shoulder. "Oh -- boys?" He says, eyebrows raised. "You could have told me, you know. I'm very happy that the two of you finally sorted your shit out." 

And then he's gone, door closing behind him with finality. 

Jordan looks up at Virgil with wide, wide eyes, and Virgil looks back, because neither of them are quite sure what just happened. There was no room for questioning what Jurgen meant, but- 

"I'm too tired to process this - take me to bed," Jordan says, a heavy kind of amusement coating his tone. He curves his hand around Virgil's jaw and stretches up to kiss him softly, slowly. When he pulls away, he's smiling, thumb brushing gently over Virgil's bottom lip. "We'll talk about it properly in the morning."

Virgil nods, because even though they have a lot to sort out, the thought of falling asleep with the man he loves is much more appealing.

  


  


** +1. **

Virgil has never, ever known anything like this.

Watching Jordan lift the trophy, red ribbon fluttering next to his face and lights bouncing off the metal onto his skin - it made Virgil feel like a brand new man. Happy, in a delirious kind of way, in a way that makes his heart pound against his ribs, in a way that makes him fall in love all over again. He isn't ashamed to admit that he falls for Jordan in a different way every day, but this… This is breathtaking.

He misses Jordan. It's stupid, really, because they just played ninety minutes together and then spent god knows how long celebrating two foot away from each other, but Virgil felt the ache like a punch to the chest when he had to go and sit in for the post match press conference. He spent the entire thing sipping his beer and thinking about dragging Jordan into a dark, empty corner and getting his mouth on him, anywhere he could.

But he knows that isn't feasible.

They'd talked about it after Jurgen had found out about them, but Virgil knows that Jordan still isn't quite comfortable with the idea of telling everyone. Nothing personal, he said quickly (not that Virgil had needed the reassurance), but he just thought they ought to wait until after the final. The last thing any of them needed before the biggest game of their lives was a distraction. 

Virgil just wants to know what it feels like to celebrate the biggest trophy you could possibly win with the love of his life, that's all - but he's perfectly capable of waiting until they get back to the hotel.

Jurgen has an arm slung around his shoulders as they head back to the dressing room, telling jokes and just generally being the Klopp that Virgil loves so much, but he isn't really listening. He couldn't hear even if he wanted to, not over the buzzing in his ears, and Jurgen knows that. He shoves Virgil into the dressing room with a roll of his eyes and goes to Div instead.

The first thing Virgil sees is the trophy, pride of place in the middle of the dressing room. The second thing is Jordan, who spots him at exactly the same time. His entire face lights up, blinding grin making his eyes bright and cheeks flush, and then he's striding over to Virgil with confident footsteps. 

Virgil doesn't have a second to work out what Jordan is doing before the older man's hands come up to cradle his face, and then he's stretching up on his tiptoes to place a wet, heated kiss on Virgil's mouth. He's shocked but kisses back because he always would, anywhere, in any lifetime, and his hands slide around to the small of Jordan's back to pull him close.

When the kiss breaks, Jordan is laughing delightedly before he tucks his face into Virgil's neck. And then he surfaces, like the water clears from around him. He can hear the lads wolf whistling in the background - he just can't quite bring himself to care, not while Jordan's damp hair is tickling his chin and the familiar smell of his shower gel is flooding all of his senses. 

"Knew it," he hears Milly say from somewhere distantly to the left of them, but it's absent. He only has eyes for Jordan, like there's a spotlight on him while the rest of the world fades to black. "I told you, Andrew. I told you they were together. You owe me a tenner."

Virgil knows that he should be offended that their own teammates are making bets on their relationship, but frankly, he forgets all about it when Jordan catches his mouth with another kiss. 

Besides, he thinks, he's allowed to kiss his own boyfriend if he damn well pleases. He's playing for his dream club, with teammates that he loves, and he's a European champion. Oh, and he's in the happiest relationship he's ever been in. 

He doesn't think things actually could get any better than this.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ [georginiwijnaldum](https://georginiwijnaldum.tumblr.com/) xo


End file.
